


well worn poems

by pinkponyclubs



Series: the keeper and the key [2]
Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gilbert Blythe Needs a Hug, Gilbert Blythe in Love, Gilbert Blythe is Whipped, Gilbert’s POV, Oblivious Gilbert Blythe, POV Gilbert Blythe, a day in the life of gilbert blythe, caretaker gilbert blythe, gilbert thinks too much, omg that rhymes, poor baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:00:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28903038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkponyclubs/pseuds/pinkponyclubs
Summary: Gilbert Blythe hasn’t seen Anne Shirley since she’d yelled in his face and smacked him with her slate. He does about this what he’s always done best. He thinks.orA Day in the Life of Gilbert Blythe
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Series: the keeper and the key [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119437
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	well worn poems

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a little thing I thought was needed. it’s basically just a fluff piece of gilbert’s thoughts. because ya know. i love him 
> 
> i guess this is kind of a series now. i’ll update when i want and when i can. i have a lot of thoughts and headcanons i want to get down soooo :)

As Gilbert Blythe read to his father, his mind was far from poems.   
  


After Diana had told him about Anne living at Green Gables, he’d decided he didn’t actually need the information that badly. He could just wait until the next day when Anne returned to school to apologize to her and try to make amends.

He didn’t have time to visit Green Gables anyway, not with his father feeling worse and worse each day. 

But Anne didn’t return the next day. Or the next. Or the next.   
  


Gilbert sat, everyday, waiting for that head of red hair to walk in the door. Sometimes he even slowed his walk and made himself late, hoping he’d catch her on the way.

But she never showed. 

Which left Gilbert with a real problem. 

What if she never came back? What if he never got to apologize? What if he never saw her again at all?   
  


_Was it his fault she didn’t come back? Had he embarrassed her that much?  
  
_

Gilbert worried his bottom lip as he paused in his reading.   
  


Before he could continue to the next stanza, his father interrupted. 

“What’s weighing so heavy on that mind of yours, gil weed? You’ve been lost in space for ten minutes now.”

Gilbert scoffed gently. “No I haven’t. I’ve been reading.”

”You have, but you’ve comprehended about 10% of it, I’d say.”

Gilbert gave a good natured eye roll “It’s not like I haven’t read every poem in this book one hundred times over.” 

John chuckled, which morphed into a cough on a dime, a horrible wheezing sound that was as familiar to Gilbert as the sound of his voice.   
  
Gilbert sighed once his father’s fit had calmed.

“It’s nothing, Dad. Just thinking over my to do list.”

”Hmm.”

”I _am_. The town is saying a snow storm is probably on the way, so I’ve got to board up the barn and get the horses situated. And the stove is broken again so I’ll have to fix it _._ ”

Gilbert sat back a little in the chair he’d placed by his father’s bed. He genuinely did need to go over the to do list.

”I’ll have to ride into town for some supplies in case we get snowed in, which we probably will.”   
  


He looked down at his father, who’s eyes were starting to droop slightly.   
  


He stood, sliding an ancient book mark into the equally ancient poetry book and placing it on his father’s nightstand.   
  


“And _you_ need to nap. While you do, I’ll go cut some more wood for the fire, also in case we get snowed in. I don’t wanna have to be out in knee deep snow doing it.”

Which he had been forced to do before, not that his father needed to know _that_.

“I’m fine, son.” John assured, even as his words slurred together.   
  
As he always did.

”Sure, Dad.” Gilbert said solemnly. _Sure._

Chopping wood had become almost a balm on Gilbert’s sometimes stinging thoughts.

His father’s health was always on his mind, a lurking, heavy presence that was so constant he sometimes felt like it was the only thing weighing him to the earth.

Next was the farm. Every chore, every need, every supply, constantly rotating, constantly on his brain in a catalogue of responsibility. 

The orchard was dormant now, but when it wasn’t, it was also, as everything else, on his mind.   
  


Then school. His father had been pressing Gilbert about how important school was for as long as he could remember.

_“I never took school as seriously as I should have. School should be your highest priority, Gil. It’s the only thing that’s gonna get you beyond where you are now.”  
  
_

Gilbert didn’t really know exactly what that meant. He knew he didn’t want to be a farmer, not really, not forever. But in Avonlea, there wasn’t much else.   
  
Gilbert knew there was more in the world, knew there were places beyond. 

But it was hard to think of anything beyond that heavy, lurking presence.   
_  
_

But it was hard to think _of_ it too, so Gilbert tended to push it to the very back of his mind, and bring everything else forward.   
_  
So, chores._ _  
_

Chopping wood was mindless and numbing, a comfort that Gilbert did not take for granted. 

He finished, and collected the logs to stack under the porch. 

He ducked his head back into his father’s room, just to make sure he was sleeping soundly, and to tug the blankets up to his neck.

He tended to the horses, made sure they were secure and the barn was sealed tightly.

It was too late to go into town.

He made tea, and he sat. 

He sat.   
  
Sitting idle was the worst for his mind.

_The stove.  
_

Grateful for another distraction, Gilbert fiddled with the fire stove for as long as he could stretch the time to.   
  
He’d fixed the stove countless times. He could get it working again in no time at all.

But then he’d have to be _idle_ again. 

It was the same cycle, the same chores, the same responsibilities, the same fear, the same thoughts, the same avoidance. 

The same. 

John Blythe was always claiming his son’s mind to be too sharp, too busy for Gilbert’s own good, but Gilbert himself didn’t hold it to a regard of that level. 

It seemed to him all his mind did was remind him of things his heart and soul were well and truly weary of. 

His thoughts wandered to Anne again.

You could assume that thinking of her would be simpler than his usual train of thought, but Gilbert had a feeling nothing about that girl was _simple_. 

Gilbert finally rose from his position by the stove to sit at the table and sip at his now cold tea. He rested his chin in his hand.

She was just so _interesting_. 

Admittedly he knew nothing about her, beyond the fact that she was an orphan, lived with the Cuthberts, and wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself in the slightest. All that in itself though, was more interesting than no small number of the people in Avonlea.

Gilbert smirked, running his fingers over the nearly healed bruise on the slant of his cheek bone. 

A girl who wasn’t afraid to smack an overeager fool boy in the face for teasing her had to be a very interesting one indeed. 

He sighed. He still needed to apologize.

The more he thought on the incident, the worse he felt. Anne had looked so mortified, almost devastated after she’d gotten in trouble, before she’d ran. 

And Mr. Phillips, the twit, hadn’t even let Gilbert take the blame.

He could smile at the thought of the actual occurrence (he still didn’t quite understand what about it made him so happy, cause it had _hurt_ ) but he hated that he’d upset Anne so much, and ruined her second day at school.

_Tomorrow_ , he decided.

It was Saturday. He’d ride into town for supplies first thing in the morning, and then after head to Green Gables.

Nerves and excitement swirled in his stomach at the thought of seeing Anne again. 

What if she wanted nothing to do with him? 

What if she _did?  
_

_What if she hit him again?_

Well.


End file.
